


Young, But For a Season

by barbitone



Series: Captive Prince Fanfiction [8]
Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, M/M, Misunderstandings, Post-Canon, captive prince art
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-25
Updated: 2019-09-25
Packaged: 2020-10-30 16:27:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20775686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/barbitone/pseuds/barbitone
Summary: The first time Ancel found a gray hair he nearly screamed. Except Berenger was asleep in the other room so he took a careful breath instead. He plucked the hair and burned it over the flame of the lamp standing on his dressing table, going back to combing his hair with slow even motions until it shone.If he spent extra time that night inspecting the rest of his locks for other traitorous signs of gray, then no one was around to see, or mention it.





	Young, But For a Season

**Author's Note:**

> Title shamelessly lifted from Green, But For a Season. I'm endlessly fascinated by the Berenger/Ancel dynamic, especially as they get older. I firmly believe they deserve a happy ending ;_;

* * *

The first time Ancel found a gray hair he nearly screamed. Except Berenger was asleep in the other room so he took a careful breath instead. He plucked the hair and burned it over the flame of the lamp standing on his dressing table, going back to combing his hair with slow even motions until it shone.

If he spent extra time that night inspecting the rest of his locks for other traitorous signs of gray, then no one was around to see, or mention it.

Finally he set down the ivory comb and stared at himself in the mirror. He looked good. He always looked good. He was still young, no one could deny that.

The gray hair must have been some sort of fluke, an anomaly. In fact, he wasn’t entirely sure he’d seen it at all. Maybe it was a trick of the light, or his exhaustion catching up with him. He’d spent nearly all day on horseback after all, accompanying Berenger as he inspected flood damage at a nearby farm.

By the time he slipped into bed he’d managed to convince himself that he hadn’t seen anything out of the ordinary after all.

Berenger made a small sleepy sound and wrapped an arm around his waist, pulling him closer.

“You were gone longer than usual,” he murmured into Ancel’s ear, his voice low and sleep-rough. “Is everything alright?”

“Yes, my lord,” Ancel said, only to wince when Berenger tensed, sitting up a little.

“Now I really am worried,” he said. “You haven’t called me that in years.”

“You’re a Lord, you’re mine, what’s the problem?” Ancel retorted, pointedly looking away. “Shut up and go to sleep. I’m too tired to fuck you tonight.”

Berenger laughed a little, settling back down. “Even if I do all the work?” he teased, nosing behind Ancel’s ear. “Mmm… you smell good.”

“Of course I do,” Ancel said, leaning back into his touch and tilting his head, a not-so-subtle encouragement for Berenger to kiss his neck. Berenger, as always, obliged. Ancel shivered at the hint of stubble scraping against his delicate skin, at the way Berenger ran his hand up Ancel’s thigh, pushing up his nightshirt.

“Still too tired?” Berenger asked with a quiet chuckle.

“I could be persuaded,” Ancel said, a smile playing over his lips. Gray hair or no, Berenger wanted him just as much as ever. That was the important part, wasn’t it?

They fucked lazily, Berenger taking him from behind in the darkened room. It was sweet and gentle, and when Ancel finally came with a soft sigh he felt all the anxiety from before fading.

* * *

He found the next gray hair two months later and plucked it with a vengeance. It was fine. He was young and beautiful. And they had dye for hair, if it came to it. Everything was fine.

* * *

Then he noticed the faint creases at the corners of his mouth, and fainter lines around his eyes. He bought sweet-smelling creams to slather on at night and in the mornings. Berenger didn’t seem to notice, right up until dinner one night when he set his hand carefully over Ancel’s own.

“Are you happy?” he asked seriously.

“Of course I am,” Ancel said, staring back at him with suspicion. “What makes you think I’m not happy?”

“You don’t smile as much anymore.”

“I smile all the time,” Ancel countered, looking down at his plate to avoid Berenger’s earnest expression. “Anyway, smiling causes wrinkles.”

“I like your laugh lines,” Berenger said, stroking his face gently. “They’re a sign of a life well lived.”

Ancel couldn’t hold back a smile at that. “You would,” he said, and felt lighter. Of course Berenger would. He shouldn’t have doubted it.

He still put on the creams though. No sense tempting fate.

* * *

They returned to royal court at Marlas for the fall season. The joint court of Kings Laurent and Damianos was a bustling place, full of diplomats and courtiers and merchants, soldiers running training drills in the courtyards. It wasn’t the decadent court that Arles had been, during the Regent’s rule.

Ancel spent his time accompanying Berenger to council meetings and wheedling trade deals out of merchants. He spent nearly a week with one of Charls’ assistants, drawing up plans for emerging Akielon and Veretian fashions. He’d invested in a tailor’s shop at Marlas, and with the help of his direction they were doing brisk business in chitons with decorative hems and short cloaks with sleeves.

There was also a jewelry shop that Ancel had a stake in- a young goldsmith who he’d financed in setting up his first shop. He made sure to visit and inspect the new designs and suggest innovations. There was an opal mine in the mountains bordering Varenne and Ancel had been carefully cultivating a new fashion for opal earrings that would significantly enrich Berenger and, by proxy, himself.

He had so many little enterprises that needed his attention that it was weeks before he attended one of the pet entertainments- sanitized greatly from what had been acceptable in Arles, as it wouldn’t do to scandalize the poor Akielons- and realized with horror that at twenty six he was the oldest pet at court.

As he looked throughout the hall he saw that even _ Vannes _had upgraded to a younger pet, a giant Vaskian woman who was nearly as tall as Damianos. In fact- there were so few faces he recognized now. A few pets, here and there, were holdovers from when he’d first made his court debut. The oldest of them was twenty two.

Ancel felt sick.

Berenger was deep in conversation with a Patran horse trainer and Ancel took the opportunity to silently slip away.

He returned to their quarters in a stupor and locked himself into his seldom-used bedroom as he tried not to completely lose it.

His days as a pet were numbered. He’d known that from the beginning but somehow he’d forgotten. Berenger would take a wife soon and spawn dozens of tiny sticky-fingered monsters to run through the fort, barefoot and squealing.

He’d probably keep Ancel on out of some misplaced sense of duty. He’d be shunted off to a spare bedroom so Berenger could come fuck him once in a while when his wife wasn’t feeling receptive.

Ancel knew with sudden certainty that he wouldn’t be able to bear it. It wasn’t in his nature to take second place to anyone, especially when he’d been the sole recipient of Berenger’s attention for so long now.

_ Six years. _It hardly seemed possible.

He’d never heard of a pet contract lasting over a year or two, three at most. The Lords always moved on in search of something new and better, the pets did too. As far as he was concerned there was no one better than Berenger, and he’d be damned if he deigned to settle for someone worse. If anyone else would even have him now.

It was better to end things on his own terms rather than let his career decline until he was just a pitiful wretch, gray and unwanted.

So maybe he’d retire, then. He’d always planned to retire anyway, hadn’t he?

He’d amassed a not inconsiderable fortune now in gifts and other funds. He had investments. He could settle somewhere in Arles perhaps, and live comfortably enough while he figured out what to do with himself next. He did have a good eye for fashion and contacts in the industry. He could… set up shop somewhere, spend his days supervising tailors and- and-

Ancel curled up on the bed and hid his face in the pillow, taking deep breaths. It wasn’t the end of the world. He would be alright.

He told himself he would be alright.

* * *

He wasn’t about to make a scene at court so he went about his normal business as cheerfully as he could. He hadn’t had cause to act for a while now, but he remembered how to pretend. He was good at pretending, always had been. Sometimes he managed to forget about it entirely as he and Berenger went on long rides through the fields, or made love in Berenger’s lavish bed.

As winter approached they returned to Varenne, as they usually did. Somewhere along the way Ancel had grown to appreciate the quiet season, free from the intrigue of court. Free to laze about and go on long walks with Berenger through snow covered fields or go ice skating on the pond in the gardens. 

They had all that and more that winter, and Ancel tried to burn each moment into his memory, fearing it would be his last.

He threw himself into preparations for the midwinter festival, making sure this one outshone all the previous ones. He made sure it would be unforgettable. That he’d be unforgettable. Maybe Berenger would take another pet one day, but no one would compare to Ancel.

The bright winter night was just as lovely as he hoped it would be. Ancel danced, and laughed, and drank. Berenger made love to him that night, slow and passionate, and in the morning he woke around lunch time to find himself alone in bed.

He rose, still yawning, and went to his wardrobe to dress, pausing as he found an envelope with his name on it resting on his dressing table.

His heart jumped; his breath caught. Slowly, he sat.

The envelope contained a pet contract. It was the same as it was every year. At some point they’d stopped discussing it. When the previous contract was on the verge of expiring this was what greeted him- an envelope, a piece of parchment. Usually he signed after skimming the terms, always generous, and returned the envelope to Berenger with a kiss over breakfast. It was practically routine, not something he gave much thought.

This time his hands were trembling as he smoothed the paper out over his table. For a moment he really did think about signing it. He had more time, didn’t he? Just one more year. One more year to savor what he’d come to think of as the happiest time of his life. One more year of Berenger, of Varenne, even Parsins, who’d warmed up to him somewhat over time. One more year of laughter and moonlit horseback rides and making love.

One more year of plucking gray hairs and feeling the noose tightening around his neck.

Ancel shoved the contract away with a grimace and stood.

He couldn’t bear one more year. But he could bear one last month, until the winter, and his contract, were over.

Berenger, mercifully, didn’t mention the unsigned contract that evening. Ancel relaxed, slightly. Maybe this chapter of his life would come to a close with grace.

Maybe the next chapter might be exciting in its own way, happy in its own way. Maybe Berenger might find cause to visit him in Arles from time to time, between his duties, and they’d-

Ancel shut that thought down. 

It was less painful not to hope.

* * *

It all came to a head while they were spending a quiet evening in Berenger’s study, Berenger at work at his desk while Ancel sat curled up on the chaise before the fire, sketching.

“You haven’t signed the contract,” Berenger said, voice deceptively mild.

Ancel’s shoulders tightened. Of course it couldn’t be that easy.

“No,” he said.

“Would you like to renegotiate the terms?”

Ancel sighed, his gut churning sickeningly. “No.”

“Why not?”

Ancel stayed silent, praying desperately that Berenger would just _ drop it. _

“Ancel.”

“I’ve decided to retire,” he said, fighting to keep his tone light as he pointedly refused to look over at where Berenger was sitting, _ staring _ at him. He could feel the weight of Berenger’s gaze and it made his eyes prickle with tears. He wanted this moment to just be _ over. _

He heard the sound of chair legs scraping against stone and then Berenger was walking closer, of course he was. He sank to his knees beside the chaise and pulled the sketch pad out of Ancel’s hands, setting it on the ground. He covered Ancel’s hands with his own, holding him gently.

“Did I do something wrong?”

“No,” Ancel said, still not looking at him.

“Are you upset with me?”

“No!” Ancel cried out, pulling out of his hold. “Would you just- leave it alone?”

“No,” Berenger said. “Not until you tell me what’s the matter.”

“Nothing’s the matter,” Ancel hissed, jerking up to stand while Berenger stayed on his knees. Ancel backed away, putting some much needed distance between them. “It’s over. That’s all. It’s just over.”

“Ancel-”

“What do you want from me?” he demanded, his voice rising unsteadily. “Just-”

“Help me understand,” Berenger said, looking at him with the most devastated expression. “I thought you were happy. I thought that we were happy together. Something happened. Something-”

“You’re _ old,” _Ancel hissed viciously. “It’s time you took a wife. Past time. And I- I won’t stay here, for that. To watch you- So I’m finished. We’re finished. What is there to understand?”

“A wife?” Berenger asked incredulously. “I- Ancel. I don’t intend to take a wife. Not ever.”

“That’s- ridiculous.”

“I don’t-” Berenger, damn him, had the gall to laugh. “I don’t like women. I don’t think I could- I think a wife is out of the question.”

“You need heirs,” Ancel said. “How else-”

“I have an heir.”

Ancel’s eyes widened in shock and confusion.

Berenger laughed again. “Ancel- my sister’s second son stands to inherit Varenne.”

“Your- _ what?” _

Berenger rose to his feet, walking closer. Ancel backed away uncertainly until there was nowhere left to go, his back to the wall.

“You might remember the boy that was here last winter? Alfonse?”

Ancel frowned, staring up at him silently.

“You spent the first week glaring at him,” Berenger said softly. “And then you taught him to help you cheat at cards and spent the rest of the winter running around together and making trouble for poor Parsins.”

“That was- your _ nephew?” _ Ancel demanded. “I thought he was some- unfortunate orphan. He was always dressed so plainly- he was-”

“He’s twelve,” Berenger said. “He’s growing like a weed, he doesn’t need fine clothes. Ancel- is this really all it is? I don’t want a wife. I just want you.”

“I-” Ancel managed, reeling from everything. He looked down at his boots, closing his eyes. He thought of Berenger, and their life together. He thought of laugh lines, and gray hair. 

“What am I supposed to do when I’m old and ugly and you realize you don’t want me anymore?” he whispered shakily. “Just let me go. Let me leave with my dignity intact.”

“What are you talking about?” Berenger asked, taking Ancel gently by the chin to tilt his face up. “You’ll always be beautiful to me. And more than that- you’re lovely in so many other ways. Clever and strong, powerful. You brighten every room, you make my heart sing.”

Ancel blinked in shock as he stared up into Berenger’s earnest eyes. He felt tears spilling down his cheeks.

“Oh, Ancel,” Berenger whispered, wiping the tears away tenderly. “If you truly wish to leave, I won’t stop you. But don’t leave just because you think I- Because you think I wouldn’t… I’ll always want you, in every way possible. I’ll always make sure you’re safe and taken care of. I love you.”

“No,” Ancel whispered. It couldn’t be possible, couldn’t be true. It was too much to believe. “You don’t. You- you-”

_ “I love you,” _ Berenger said fiercely.

Ancel could only stare up at him. Berenger wouldn’t lie to him, wouldn’t trick him like this. He never had. He’d always-

Ancel sobbed, too overcome by strange emotions to hold it back anymore. “I love you too,” he managed through his tears and Berenger surged forward to kiss him.

“I love you,” Berenger muttered. “Ancel- I love you, I love you, I-”

“Shut up,” Ancel bit out, kissing him back and clutching at his shoulders, his chest. He couldn’t quite believe this was real as Berenger bent to grab him by the backs of the thighs and lifted him higher against the wall. Ancel wrapped his legs around Berenger’s hips, his arms around his neck, and kissed him and kissed him and kissed him.

He was dizzy as Berenger carried him back to his rooms- their rooms- and laid him out over their bed. He was dizzy as they pulled their clothes off, desperate for the feeling of skin pressed to skin.

Berenger made love to him, whispering sweet promises against his skin, and he suddenly saw what he’d been too afraid to see before. This was real. This thing between them- it had been real and true for a long time now.

In the morning Berenger dropped the contract into the fire. He offered up a ring instead- a plain gold band unadorned by stones. The velvet box he’d been keeping it in had dust on the cover. He’d been saving it for a long time.

“I love it,” Ancel said after slipping it on his finger, resolving to commission a gold band for Berenger, to match. “I love you.”

Berenger smiled, as bright as the sun. They never spoke of contracts again.

* * *

Ancel was giddy as he climbed off his horse, smiling at being home again after a torturous month away securing a steady supply of pearl beads for his tailor shops from a seaside province in Patras.

Berenger was there to greet him in the stables, though knowing him- he’d probably taken to whiling his days away in the stables with the horses for lack of Ancel’s company.

“You’re home,” Berenger breathed out as Ancel laughed and went to embrace him, beaming.

“I’m home,” he whispered back.

When they pulled away from each other Berenger stared at him for a long moment with impossible joy playing out over his face.

“I like this,” he said at last, reaching out to twirl a lock of gray hair over his finger. Ancel had stopped dying his hair while he’d been away. There hadn’t seemed to be much point, and it had seemed to help during negotiations, lending him an air of seriousness that the Patran merchants responded to.

Ancel scowled, pushing him away playfully. “Of course. We’ve established by now that you’re an incorrigible pervert.”

“You’re one to talk,” Berenger said, leaning in to kiss the side of his neck and slipping his hands down his back to cup his ass.

“Aren’t you a little old for trysts in the stables?” Ancel asked.

“I’m not even fifty,” Berenger said with a laugh. “Aren’t you a little young for this sort of puritan indignation?”

“I’m as fresh as a may flower,” Ancel retorted, pushing Berenger back into an empty stall. “Aren’t you afraid you’ll break a hip?”

“Aren’t you afraid that my gaze will wander, if you don’t play into my perverted fantasies?”

“I was afraid your vision was failing you in your advanced age,” Ancel laughed, shoving Berenger down onto a pile of straw.

“Not yet,” Berenger said as Ancel moved to straddle him. “Thank god- not yet. You’re as beautiful as the first day I saw you.”

“Don’t insult me,” Ancel said, bending to kiss him. “I’m even more beautiful now. With all my gray hair and wrinkles. Though you’ve aged horribly.”

“Apologies," Berenger said with a decidedly unapologetic quirk to his brow. "I’ve tried to use your creams, but-”

“Shut up,” Ancel laughed. “Just shut up and fuck me.”

“Yes,” Berenger said, laughing too. “Anything you like.”

_ fin._

_ _

**Author's Note:**

> Now with a quick follow-up fic about the winter that Ancel met Alfonse ;) [Ancel’s terrible, no good, very bad winter](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20942042)
> 
> Find me on tumblr at [barbitone](http://barbitone.tumblr.com/) and pillowfort also at [barbitone](https://www.pillowfort.io/barbitone)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Ancel’s terrible, no good, very bad winter](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20942042) by [barbitone](https://archiveofourown.org/users/barbitone/pseuds/barbitone)


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